


What a Little Dork.

by Kanra_san



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Just a metric ton of fluff, Romance, Slow Burn Ish, snarky comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanra_san/pseuds/Kanra_san
Summary: Basically, just a collection of MacCready and the SS being dorks together. He has a crush on his boss, and she thinks he needs to chill.





	1. The One With Drawing

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are gonna be constantly rewritten and revised until I'm happy with them, which I am definitely not right now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and the SS stop for a while. Sole decides to bust out a book of scrap paper and a pencil she found somewhere along the line.

“‘Sup, boss?” MacCready settles down next to the woman sitting just on the edge of a tall building, absent-mindedly running his hands up and down his wiry arms. She glances up at him from the book she’s sketching in. “You need something, Mac?” She asks, her tone distracted. She glances to the horizon, then back to the drawing. He lets out a small sigh, looking down on the city below. He lets his legs swing there, nothing but himself and the woman holding him back from a 40-foot fall.

When he was younger, heights like this made him uneasy. With a decade of sniping experience behind him now, though, he saw them less as dangerous, and more as a good place to hide away. He found solace on the rooftops of abandoned buildings and those tall metal towers. He enjoyed sitting in silence above the world, far away from anyone who would hurt him. The familiar weight of his rifle on his back was good company, but not the only one he wanted.

“Not really. You never told me you were an artist.” He spares a glance at the drawing, finding himself let out a low whistle. He found that he wasn’t too bad with drawing things himself, but he, as both a humble artist and a harsh self-critic, thought her work was far beyond his level of skill. He supposed he was glad she had something else to do with her time, aside from killing things and practising that one-hundred-mile-long stare he knew too well.

“It’s not terribly pertinent. I'll make you something to make up for it.” His brows raise to his hairline. He always liked receiving gifts. He typically preferred more deadly and useful gifts- but he wasn't about to tell _her_ that. She was taking time out of her day to make something for him. The thought made him almost giddy- a feeling the woman had a habit of making him feel. If only momentarily and in his subconscious, it made him perceive himself as more worthy than he figured he really was.

“I-I mean, that’s- that is, if you _want_ to. I mean, you don’t _have to_ , obviously, but I- I mean, I would like that.” As smooth as a ride on the skybridge. A displeased look flitted across his face. He tended to be especially inarticulate around his Boss, which was very frustrating. Especially when one is attempting to look suave and effortless. She doesn't comment, so he figures she either is used to him sounding like a complete neanderthal, or just didn't notice. 

“Okay, don’t move.” He immediately disobeys to sit up straighter, doing his best to ignore the itch his body decided was _very_ important right now. After spending nearly half an hour focusing on not focusing on _how much his knee itches_ , she clears the silence with a quietly pleased noise.

“At ease, soldier.” The smirk in her voice is evident, and it makes him smile despite himself. He plays it off by squinting in the daylight. He goes to look at the picture, but she places a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him away. She hums a quiet ‘Not done’ and leans away from him.

He scoffs, electing to watch the horizon with a small frown. The quiet sound of her pencil scratching against the paper is the only sound between them, and he finds himself lulled into a tired state of bliss. They'd been travelling all across the Commonwealth, and he was beat. He let his mind wander, thinking about how Duncan was doing. 

The familiar sting of long-held back depression started seeping in when his stomach interrupted. He told himself that he had plenty of time to worry later, and began instead scheming about food. Just as the whiskey in his pack began calling to him in dulcet tones, the woman next to him cleared her throat.

“Ta-da. I present to you; 'R.J. MacCready: Mercenary For Hire That Goes Jingle, Jangle, Jingle'.” She hands over the sketch, and once again, his brows raise. He traced every line, feeling his chest tug when he noticed how much time she spent on his eyes. A smile came to his face.

“Nice title.” She lets out what he could only describe as the cutest sound known to mankind. He glances up at her, which, like far too many times before, is a horrible idea. She’s looking at him with so much love and adoration that it makes him want to burst. The proud smile on her lips would probably haunt him until the day he died.

"Thanks, came up with it on the spot. What do you think of the sketch?" He gives her a noncommittal shrug. He wanted to throw his arms around her and tell her thanks, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. And, frankly, he wasn't willing to risk what he had with her over some silly physical contact. Though his thoughts still lingered, he didn't act.

"I'm hot." He says flippantly, drawing a laugh from her. Despite the lack of catharsis his statement gave him, her laugh still manages to give him the same feeling; almost like transcendence. The corniness of it all was so nauseatingly saccharine that he had to force himself up, for fear of saying something (more) embarrassing.

"I'm going to go eat." He says, though it sounds more like a question. She stands, taking the sketchbook from his hands. Had he had more guts, he would've torn the drawing out to keep with him. Seeing himself through this woman's eyes was an experience he'd hold dear. 

He figured he'd have to steal it when she went to bed for the night. He'd rather die than give her that kind of ammo to tease him for the rest of his life.


	2. The One With A Lot of Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Sole are at her place in Diamond City, lounging about on the roof. She's a lot wiser than he expected.

“Doesn’t it make you sad? Y’know, to remember?” The man’s voice was hesitant, testing the waters of the silence to ensure no storms were approaching. The woman’s far-away gaze slid over him.

“The past beats inside me like a second heart [1]. You ever hear that? It’s a quote from a book I used to like.” Her gaze falls back to the horizon on fire, a low breath escaping her lungs. He watches her still, as she does nothing, only holding his very universe together. She’s out of her normal thick jacket, and lounging in a short top and shorts. She’s relaxed, and it suits her.

“But, does it bother you when I ask about it?” His tone is soft, trying not to pinch at tender nerves. A small smile flits across her face for a moment, but her gaze does not turn to him.

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain; it's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared [2]. No matter how much suffering I've gone through, I never want to let go of them [3]. It’s one way to keep ahold of the person I used to be; to remember the one I needed, so I can be that person for the people I love.” He eyes her, unsure of how to respond. She only sends him a small smile.

“None of that was Shakespeare, so you know.” He let out a small scoff at her jest, facing the darkening horizon with a drink to his lips. She stood, letting out a grunt of effort. Their long treks across the Commonwealth tended to make thighs and calves sore. Though Sole found the familiar ache somewhat irritating, she found it useful to remind herself that it was the feeling of her power. Before the bombs, up to the point where she crawled out of the vault, she was weak. While she wouldn't re-do the things that made her strong, she wouldn't want to go back to who she was. She was now a force to be reckoned with, and as she stood there; bathing in the orange sun just peeking over the edge of a 200-year-old stadium wall, she smiled.

It wasn't filled with joy, and it wasn't the same flavour of content as when she held Shaun in her arms. It wasn't the same one she wore as she walked down the aisle, poised to become a married woman. It wasn't the same one she had when she graduated law school, or when she had her first kiss. It wasn't the smile of a complacent, but content woman. It was a look of victory. She had accomplished so much when she was with Nate, but she was ready to settle into her life.

Now, nothing could stop her from taking on the world and all the irradiated shit inside it. The meek woman who lived inside her; one that picked out her outfits the night before work,  maintained a delicate balance between plump and skinny, was a proud wife and mother? She was that, but so much more. She'd been through hell, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to crawl out the other side with the same smile on her face.

Standing there, on the rooftop of some run-down stadium of the sport she never really liked; she almost felt happy. It was a new kind of happy, one that made her breathless; filled to the brim with some kind of whimsical pride that she simply couldn't suppress. Maybe it was the skunkiness of the beer, or the complete overwhelming exhaustion of the world bearing down on her. Maybe, being there, bathed in the orange light- kept company by some  _punk_ , that, had it been 200 years sooner, she would've sooner scoffed at than hung around- was changing her. She was evolving, possibly due to radiation, but she wasn't sure she minded.

She liked the powerful woman she was becoming, even if the memories of what it took to get her there weren't the latest showing at the Sunday Drive-In. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - “The past beats inside me like a second heart.”  
> ― John Banville, The Sea  
> 2 - “The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”  
> ― Lois Lowry, The Giver  
> 3 - “No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.”  
> ― Haruki Murakami  
> 


	3. The One With Duncan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mac's personal quest, li'l Duncan comes to hang with his papa. He's heard stories from his dad about the super-cool superhero lady who helped save him, and he really wants to meet her.

“Alright, almost there, kiddo.” The nearby voice of her travelling companion perked the woman’s ears up. She had her feet kicked up on a coffee table, relaxing on a couch while reading a book. As she crossed the room, intent on working on a mod that had been giving her trouble of late, a light knock came from her door. She padded over to it, opening it to see a young boy before her. He looks absolutely amazed as she leant on the door frame, wrench in hand.

“Wow, she’s tall.” The boy says in awe, his jaw hanging open. MacCready steps up behind him, lifting the boy by the sides to sit on his shoulders. The boy takes the hat off the mercenary's head to sit on (or rather, around) his head.

“Duncan, this is Sole. Sole, this is Duncan.” She nods, holding up a hand for the boy to shake. A wide, lopsided grin stretches across her face when the boy takes it, looking bemused.

“Can I have your autograph?” He asks, drawing a laugh from her. She hums a quiet ‘yeah, why not’ before stepping aside to invite them in. Mac puts him down on the ground, letting him shuffle about the clean building. She glances back to the mercenary, who is unable to erase his wide grin. Just as happy to have the kid safe and back with his father; she winds her arm around his back, pulling him into a side-hug, eyes on the boy as he inspects her trinkets.

“He has your eyes.” She sends him a smile. He glances over at her, his grin widening. Duncan calls his father over to "take a look at this super-cool thing" and Sole takes in the moment. MacCready was grinning from ear to ear; and here was this amazing little boy, safe and sound, because of her help. She sighed out a laugh, noting that the scene was like something out of one of those per-war commercials. 'Look at how this cute family tugs at your heartstrings; buy our cereal', et cetera.

"Um, Miss General?" The boy calls to her, snapping her from her thoughts. She has to suppress a snort. She can easily imagine the (now slightly pinker) mercenary rave about her accomplishments. She smiles; both due to the potential for teasing, as well as the cute boy. She steps towards him, spotting the trinket in his hands. She crouches before him, frowning deeply as she sees his upset expression. 

He holds two pieces of a small robot statue, and she can see where it has broken in two. She can see the tears in his eyes, and feels her chest clench horribly at the sight. She takes the broken statue from his shaking hands, a soft smile on her lips.

"It's alright, kiddo. I can fix it, no problem. That's my job, you know." She taps his nose with the pad of her finger, drawing a small laugh from the boy. Knowing she isn't mad seems to lift a weight from the boy's shoulders. 

She turns to the workbench, picking up a tube of glue. She puts the statue back together again, holding it in place for a few seconds to ensure the glue holds. She then kneels back down, placing the statue in Duncan's hands.

"Keep it safe for me, will you?" He nods vigorously, holding the tiny robot close to his chest. She catches Mac's gaze, and he looks as if he's about to break. She figures she might as well give him a break from the impending wave of embarrassment he will, inevitably, have to deal with. She gestures for them to go, scrawling out her name on the back cover of a comic she has laying around. She hands it to the boy before shuffling them out the door.

The boy shouts a 'Thank you' at her from behind his father's legs. The mercenary sends her a grateful look.

"You two go have fun. You need to make up for, like, five years' absence. Go on." She waves him off, giving him a soft smile. A look of pity flits across his face, but he covers it up by nodding in thanks to her. She watches, leaning on the door frame, as the mercenary takes his son's small hand and leads him away. They talk to each other animatedly, wide smiles on both their faces. It takes all she has to watch the scene without grinning like an idiot and then bursting into tears.


	4. The One Where Sole Almost Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sole almost dies, and MacCready decides that he doesn't especially like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, if you don't like people almost dying, this isn't a great chapter for you, 'cause that's what happens here. I don't feel like diving deep into the angst pool, so Sole is fine.

“No, no. No, no, no, no, no. Come on, Sole.” The mercenary placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She grumbled slightly, her leg shifting ever so slightly. He let out a breath of relief, brushing the hair out of her face to try and make eye-contact.

“Hey, you alright, boss?” He places his rough hands on either of her cheeks, holding her face steady. Her eyes eventually focus on him, though they’re heavier than normal. A pang of guilt hits his chest as he searches for her in her eyes. She parts her chapped lips, her voice clearer than he thought it’d be.

“You’re a damn idiot, Mac. You could’ve gotten killed; running out on the field like you did. If I get taken down, you  _ run _ . You have Duncan to look after, you selfish bastard.” Her words are harsh, though her tone is tired. Having grown accustomed to her scolding, he only let out another breath of relief and a hoarse laugh.

With his help, she manages to sit up. She takes a few Stims and a Med-X, trying not to think about how little he's said about what happened to her. He only mentioned that she was knocked down from a suicider he shot, but he didn't say much about what went on after. All she knew was that any enemy within half a mile's radius was dead, with a .308 between the eyes.

* * *

 

"I can walk just fine, Mac." She shrugged his arm off her for the third time in five minutes. He settles for fidgeting with his hands, as if he's unsure of what to be doing. She lets out a small grumble.

"Just carry your gun, if you want something to hold onto. You can cover me the whole way back to Hangman's Alley, if that'll make you feel better." He nods hesitantly, doing as she says.

The walk back is silent, the both of them thinking of things to say to try and ease the other one. Neither of them come up with much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Sole Survivors were harmed in the making of this chapter.
> 
> Also, I wrote this while very tired. Sorry if it's not good.


	5. The One With Shaun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac decides he should talk to his boss about how things have been going. A per use with him, he's incredibly awkward and doesn't get to say what he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYY THIS CHAPTER HAS SWEARING. JUST SO YA KNOW. As well as gratuitous hatred towards mole rats and gross sobbing.

MacCready shuffled down to the dining hall, fidgeting with his hands the whole way. He really figured he ought to talk with his boss, so he could understand whether their becoming more than a business contract was good for the both of them. He knew he enjoyed it; it made him better at his job. Plus, he was getting a lot out of it, which was always good. He was more worried about her even wanting his friendship in the first place.

He spotted her sitting outside of the bar she set up, a cigarette hanging from between her fingers. A settler was speaking with her, but they parted ways just before he got over. He psyched himself up mentally; he finally got her alone, and now they could actually talk. He mumbled a hello to her, and she extended a cigarette to him in greeting. He took it, letting her lay her gloved hand on his lower cheek to light it with her other hand. The cigarette seemed to be doing something to calm his nerves, at least.

“So, I was meaning to talk to you for a while now.” He started, ignoring the amused look she sent his way as she sat beside him. If he actually  _ looked  _ at her while talking about  _ feelings _ , he might just chicken out and go eat instead. “I wanted to say that I like having you as a friend. Just… in general. It’s… nice, I guess.” He wanted to sink into the fucking ground. She didn’t respond, but he could feel that  _ damn _ smirk aimed at him, and it made him completely melt in embarrassment. He wanted to just say ‘Good talk’ and get  _ out _ of there, but she held him back.

“I like having you around too, Mac. I appreciate you having my back, as well as _at least_ 40% of your sassy comments and snark; give or take. You’re a pretty awesome friend, even if you  _ totally  _ suck at the whole feelings thing.” He glances over at her, which is his first mistake. She’s wearing that  _ stupid _ lopsided smirk that just makes him want to punch her in the arm, but kiss her dumb face. That was part of the reason he needed the talk; his impulse thoughts pertaining to her were getting more and more unprofessional.

His second mistake was opening his mouth to say something, but then look over at her. In his thought process, his mouth just hung open. He let out a really intelligent-sounding ‘uhh’ noise for a second, before snapping closed his gaping face. She snorted out a laugh, which took him from his thoughts. That, and the little boy who ran at her, crying.

Her shift from normal to motherly was apparent even on her face. The light smirk she wore disappeared to give way to one of concern. She met the boy halfway, taking him up in her arms and holding him above her hip. The boy shoved his face into her collarbone, letting out wet sobs. She let one arm wrap around his body, while the other sat on his head.

“You wanna tell me what happened, kiddo?” The boy lifts his head, wiping his face and putting on a new, brave one. “T-There were a bunch of mole rats by the park- I-I killed them, but I was so scared!” He began sobbing slightly, and the woman lets out a pitying noise. Mac stands from his seat, approaching the two.

“You didn’t get hurt at all, right?” Sole checks, and the boy shakes his head quickly. “They didn’t get close.” He sniffles a bit, and Mac messes up his hair with a small grin.

“Man, you’re  _ way _ braver than I was when I was your age.” The boy puts on a shocked face, letting out a surprised gasp.

“That was before the  war, right?” He asks, drawing a loud laugh from the woman. Mac scoffs at the joke, a mild frown on his lips.

“Yeah, obviously. Ha-ha, I get it, it’s ‘cause I’m old.” He mumbles, shaking his head. The boy laughs, which brings a smile to Sole’s lips. Someone calls the woman from a ways away, and her gaze snaps towards it. Shaun let out a groan of disappointment, his tears now dry and fears chased away. Sole sets him down on the ground, a small smile on her face.

“You stick with MacCready here, kiddo, and you’ll be totally safe. He’s  _ pretty _ cool.” She taps the boy’s nose, who smiles. She stands, sending the mercenary a smile.

“Stay out of trouble, the both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi there. If you didn't know, I have another Fallout-related story. It's called "It's a Really Long Walk From Vegas to Boston. It's Also Very Boring." Because I'm a member of FOB, apparently. One could say I'm into Fall Out Boy as well as Fallout Boys. Sorry. Anyway, if you have a hankering for some reading, you can read it here.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/13039209/chapters/29825439
> 
> Aaaaaanyway. I'll do my best to keep writing this fluffy shit. You can leave comments with requests, and I'm working on possibly making a Tumblr blog where I can do this same writing with a more effective request system. Stay tuned to the end-notes for more, 'cause I hate writing a whole new chapter just for an update.


	6. The One With Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac took Sole's bed. Sole is unhappy and tired. She just joins him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry if this sucks, it was written with a different character at first.

“Oh my god.” Sole wanders into her room, tossing her pack on the ground and turning to her bed for some well-earned rest. The rumpled sheets on her bed were enough evidence that she wasn’t alone. MacCready, the part-time snarky asshole and habitual bed-stealer was back. The sheets on her normally ‘neat’ (self-titled ‘chaotic good’ bed-dressing style) bed were out of place- something that only ever happened if MacCready left something in her room (He liked to toss random stuff in there, claiming, “I trust you more than the other blowhards here; you should be honoured”) and he sat down on her bed, or, the more likely reason- the same merc was snuggled up taking a nap. Normally, she’d shrug him off and go about her business, but she intended to use her bed for her own selfish naptime- and she was determined to get it.

He always made up a different reason for why he slept in her room, rather than finding a spare bedroll or mattress to sleep on. First, it was that he was cold, and her room had better blankets. Sure; whatever. It was getting into December at the time, and the nights cooled much more than in other months. She let him hang out in there a few times, suggesting he either take a few blankets with him, or bring his mattress/bedroll/whatever into her room to toss on the floor. After her perfectly good reasoning, he came up with another reason. He said that her room and bed were cleaner and nicer than anyone else’s, and he wanted to cherish it. Fine; whatever. But, her room slowly became more and more cluttered with other people’s (namely _his)_ things. He also seemed to enjoy sleeping no matter what the state of the place was. She shrugged it off; she wasn’t going to dictate his habits if they weren’t bothering anyone.

She knew he didn’t sleep a whole lot- that much was evident when they’d travel together. He’d always be first watch, and had a habit of not switching unless she woke herself up to remind him. She wasn’t sure what the reason was- whether he was wary of being caught undefended, or if he had insomnia, nightmares, or some kind of old-timey curse. She didn’t intend to ever pry; she figured he deserved that, at least. She did know that he felt safer and more comfortable in her room than anywhere else.

She peeled off her uniform, slipping into more casual clothes. She threw on a large shirt and some short-like boxers, massaging an old scar on her clavicle. She rolled her shoulders, sighing contentedly as they popped. Approaching her bed, she pulled back the covers with one flourishing move. The merc was hugging her pillow- likely drooling on it- and curled up in the middle of her bed. He didn’t flinch at all with the removal of the large blanket, but shifted to crack an eye open up at her when she pushed his shoulder. He hummed quietly, shoving his face back into the pillow.

She sat down gently on the edge of the bed, spotting a section of his shirt that had rode up to show part of his torso, and she took it as an opportunity to bother him into taking up less space. She ran her hand up his clothed side, smirking at the hum of approval she got. She more or less pet him for a few moments, watching him relax. She patted his side lightly, watching him with a tilt of her head. She leaned in closer, mouth right near his ear.

“I know you aren’t asleep. You need to move over.” He groaned quietly, apparently not enjoying either her knack for perception, or the idea of needing to scoot. She sighed deeply, shaking her head as if she pitied him for what was to come- though she couldn’t care less about feeling bad.

“Well, you’ve brought this on yourself, doll.” She slipped her hand under his shirt, pinching lightly at the skin on his side, drawing a quiet shout of surprise and a large flinch. She dug her fingers under his ribs- in likely the only area he was ticklish- and used his uncomfortable flopping about to scoot him over. He squirmed only a bit more, but she relented once she had enough space to lie down. He frowned deeply at her, but she only offered a friendly smile in response. She snuggled down into the covers, pulling them tight around her to block out any draftiness. She was just settling off into a pleasant sleep when she felt warm arms wrap around her midsection. She felt the man’s heartbeat against her back, and the warmth of his chest lulled her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Guess what! I have a Fallout blog now!  
> You can make requests and stuff.  
> My, the marvels of modern civilization.  
> Anyway, the link is below. It has most of the same stuff as here, but if you request on there, it'll only show up here if I can turn it into a fully-fledged story of some kind. It'll probably also breed more kinds of stories.  
> Yaaay.  
> FOR REQUESTS:  
> http://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com/ask  
> FOR READIES:   
> http://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com  
> enjoy, my dudes


	7. The One With The Cloud Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off an idea from an old Reddit post.

The road was quiet as the two travelled together. The decrepit scenery was the main topic for any sparse conversation, and as they passed a large factory, the mercenary piped up.

“You know, I always wondered what those big towers were for on those factories.” The woman lifted her gaze to the smokestacks.

“Ah, those are for cloud factories.” Sole said casually, toying with her rifle absentmindedly as she walked. The mercenary shot her a snarky look, a scowl dancing across his lips.

“I’m not an idiot, boss. I know that’s not what they’re for.” Immediately, she narrows her eyes at him.

“Hey, roll back the attitude, Macs. Why would I even bother to lie about something like that?” She sent him a look of disbelief, and rolled her eyes. She turns her gaze away, pretending to watch for enemies. She uses it to purse her lips, suppressing the smile that threatened to break across her face. He sent her a suspicious glance.

“So, tell me about these… ‘cloud factories’.” He says, disbelief drenching his statement. She sends him a glance, then looks back to the crumbling pavement.

“Well, I don’t know. All I know’s that hot air and smoke would come out of those, and it made clouds. That’s why Sunday’s called that. You know, ‘cause the cloud factories were closed that day.” She suppresses her smirk as she tells the silly story. The mercenary only rolls his eyes.

“You know what? That’s about as normal as the other things you’ve said about pre-war, so I’m not even gonna question it.” She gives him a wide smile, knocking his shoulder playfully. He overreacts, stumbling to the side by a few steps. It takes a few seconds for him to re-align himself with her.

"I'm so glad you trust me." She says, only half-serious. He lets out a snort at the corny smile she sends him. "Yeah, well, you're starting to make me regret it." She feigns a sound of shock.

"Why, I  _never!_ How cruel. Next thing I know, it'll start snowing, what with all these  _icy hearts_ and  _cold personalities_ blowing around out here." He gives her a disingenuous nod, along with a pitiful look.

"Well, you're welcome to borrow my scarf any time." She furrows her brows at him. "Do you even  _wear_ a scarf?" He lets out a soft laugh.

"No." She scoffs at him, shaking her head in incredulity. "I guess that mean's  _you_ have to keep me warm." She elbows his ribs, drawing an inhuman noise from him. He's not sure if it's the offhanded comment that affects him more than it should, or her jabbing at him that does the trick. Either way, she laughs at him all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy, if you want me to write something for you, leave a comment or go to: https://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com/ask


	8. The One With a Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sole makes a bet with Mac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy who has two thumbs and a fallout reactions/fanfic shit blog? This guyyyyy (insert pointing at self with thumbs)  
> https://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com/

“Bet you 300 caps I can take down that mole rat with one hit.” Sole gestures in the general direction of the target, drawing the attention of her companion. MacCready, who was also on watch, pulls up his binoculars to spot said rat almost 100 yards away. He lowers them, grinning wildly. 

“I love watching people lose 300 caps in under 5 seconds.” He joins her edge of the camp to watch her fail horribly.

“You sure you have 300 on you?” She teases. In the low light of the camp, he doesn't catch her contained smirk. She hears quietly murmurs and the light jingle of caps. She pulls up her rifle and settles into position. The man watches with amusement, having become accustomed to her constant bets on random things. She always made them up to entertain the two of them when they were travelling alone. She’d usually lose, but just smiled and said she had fun anyway. 

He never really understood the point of her always losing things to him for his entertainment, but she seemed to enjoy it, so he went along. She also had a tendency to be a big spender. There were always times when a friend of hers would settle down only to find exactly what they’d mentioned in passing as something they needed or wanted- no matter if it was 10 caps or 2000.

MacCready watched her, the way she held the rifle. It was all wrong at first, but she kept adjusting it. Suddenly, she sent him a sly look, and it was perfect. The rifle and her were one, and the gun caught just the right place. She hardly even breathed, only letting out a low exhale (and a whistle) when she shot. With only a second’s delay, the rat fell down in a heap. She sat back, unable to suppress her grin at the variety of expressions cycling through the man’s face.

Shock, amazement, and then grief were the dominant looks, but he sent her a smile of disbelief. Sole’s smile was wider, and she fidgeting excitedly while waiting for her 300-cap prize. 

“I _wonder_ what I'll spend this on.” The man grumbled quietly, drawing a raucous laugh from her. When she was all paid up, she still didn’t stop grinning. As the man went back to where he was, pockets exceptionally lighter, her smile stayed. She continued watching the camp with a wide grin. Then, Mac understood why she liked watching her friends win. She hadn’t smiled that bright since.


	9. The One Where It's Raining Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-rad storm rain was the absolute worst. Sole thought it somehow was more wet than pre-war rain. It probably had something to do with every building being significantly less leak-proof.

“Is this you trying to get back at me for stealing your bed all last week?” The fatigued tone of the mercenary brought a small smile to the woman’s face. She wound her cold arms around his wiry torso, ebbing an uncomfortable squirm from him. She settled until they were in a strange, yet comfortable half-sit; her arms around his waist, with one of his around her waist and the other leaning on his propped-up knee, ghosting over her one side. She pressed her freezing nose into the crook of his neck before letting out a soft sigh.

“A little bit.” She replied, her voice soft, though noticeably less tired. She curled her legs closer to herself, pulling the blanket of a sleeping bag closer around the both of them, shielding them from the mild mist of the building that seemed to seep into everything. 

"Well, in my defence, I was cold." He leaned his head back, sighing softly. Her head raised along with his chest, and she found it comforting. She listens to his steady heartbeat, counting every thump.

"And  _I'm_ cold right now. So, there you go. We're even." He scoffs softly, letting his head fall forward. He was in the annoying in-between state of not-quite-asleep but still dead tired. He focused what little attention he had on tracing the lines of her hair. He found his fingers twitching, yearning to run through it- so he shoved his hand in his pocket and removed his gaze.

She's cold, and he's warm. That's all it is. He tells himself to not focus on it, but every other thought is him analysing it, wondering to himself, " _What could this mean?_ " It's nearly enough to exhaust him completely. 

Sole is warm, and she's a welcome pressure on him that feels so  _alive-_ it's more than he's had for some time to keep him company. He relents, giving into the welcome feeling she radiates.

When he wakes up, she's already gone. He can't help the cool feeling that seeps in without her. He stands, shaking out his aching limbs and getting ready for another day. The rain had stopped, but he still felt cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com/ for more fun times. Feed me requests please, I don't know what to do with my time.


	10. The One With Deacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon eats a metric fuckton of Fancy Lads.

The spy sprawled across the couch, moaning and groaning. Sole, who was passing through with armfuls of weapon mods, pauses to watch the man’s pain. Boxes of Fancy Lads were strewn about the small living room. Scoffing in amusement, she studies his pain-contorted features.

“How many packs of cakes have you had?” She asks, cocking her hip to the side. He cracks an eye open to look at her, but immediately wrenches it shut. “Ten” He groans, clutching his stomach. “Are you okay?” She tries, eliciting another groan from the man.

“No.” She scoffs in amusement, carrying her weapon mods outside before grabbing a drink of water from the purifier. She brings one to the man, who is still suffering by the time she gets back. She lifts him up slightly in order to take a seat on the couch. She lets him lay his head on her lap, and runs a hand lazily over his head. His pained noises quiet slightly, but he still buries his head in her leg. She scratches his scalp lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I know, bud. I know.” She coos, running a soothing hand along his shoulder, and side. The soft footsteps of a familiar merc come through the door, then to a stop. MacCready stands in the doorway, quirking a brow at his two comrades. Sole gives a small wave, only for her hand to be grabbed by the spy’s. He tugs it closer to him, eliciting an amused smile from her. The mercenary’s arms are filled with extra rations, which he seems to have forgotten.

“That’s nice of you, but Dee just ate enough cakes for an entire settlement, so I think you can count him out.” She nods towards the food in his arms. He looks down at the whimpering man, an amused smirk on his lips. Said man just groans loudly at the prospect of eating more food. She lets out a teasing ‘aww’, and presses a kiss to his hand. She motions the other man over, barely catching the way his jaw tenses. He picks up the spy's legs to slide onto the couch next to her. 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” He asks, and she shrugs noncommittally. She continues running her hand over the spy’s head, gazing off to think. The merc suppresses a snarl when the spy’s eye flicks open to gaze at him, and a small smirk flits across his face. The woman’s eyes drag back to him too soon for him to do anything, and the spy is right back to burying his face in her leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this collection. Don't weep for me! I'll probably do more of this at some point, and there'll be plenty more of these little things at https://thatsaspicyfallout.tumblr.com   
> Thank you all for reading. You can go to the tumblr, or to my profile to find more stories.


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